Don't Forget To Bring A Towel
by HalloweenJack138
Summary: It's convention time again... can three newly single men from Dunder Mifflin share a hotel room?  Well, probably not very well, otherwise it wouldn't really be a story...
1. Chapter 1

_Okay__, we're going to do a little informal poll here... I want everyone to tell me what they think the title is a reference to and (if they're comfortable with it) what decade they were born in. I think the data is going to have a distinct skew to it._

_Also, the other day I got this link sent to me to someone's blog, I couldn't read the name because it was in Japanese, but it had some real positive things to say about my Office stories... so nice, in fact, the only thing I could think to do was write a new one. So, thanks much... I hope you dig this one._**  
**

**Episode 2.04**

Jim, thoughtful: "My biggest fear..."

Pause.

Jim: My biggest fear is actually that... I meet Winona Ryder, and we just immediately hit it off, and... she invites me back to her place... and then, all of the sudden...

Tension-filled pause.

Jim: ...She finds out I never read _Catcher in the Rye_.

He shakes his head in utter shame.

Jim: I faked my way through the entire unit by flirting with the girl next to me.

Pause.

Jim: And that's my biggest fear.

Lengthy pause.

Jim: Of course, spending a whole week in a city where the only two people I know are Dwight and Andy...

He shrugs.

Jim: Well, that's got it's own problems.

**Don't Forget To Bring A Towel**

Michael stared at the telephone on Pam's desk, willing it to ring. She had to come through for him on this one, he had sacrificed a whole week of talking shop in beautiful Newark for this, if the plan fell apart now, it would all backfire on him and he'd be stuck with those two idiots the whole time.

Pam watched Michael, knowing that he was trying to seem nonchalant, but since that simply was not a word he understood, or could even spell accurately, he was falling short as usual.

Directly across from her, Dwight was on speakerphone with a customer while he used his free hands to hastily finish packing.

"What price is the regular paper?" the customer's voice asked.

"There's no such thing as 'regular' paper, sir," Dwight explained. "We have thousands of different varieties, each of different weights and finishes, each designed for a different function. What would the primary use for this paper be?"

There was a lengthy pause on the other end before the customer answered weakly "it goes in a printer."

Dwight curled up his lips in utter disgust. When he noticed Andy was moving towards Michael, he quickly severed the connection and leapt to intercept.

"Hey, Big Boss," Andy smiled, "you always ready to hit the old dusty road?"

Michael looked at the phone, then at his watch, then back at the phone.

"Um, yeah, yeah," he improvised to his usual capabilities. "Oh!" he theatrically slapped himself on the head. "I just realized I left all my bags back at my condo."

"No problem, Michael," Dwight butted in. "I can drive you there along the way."

"Good, good," Michael nodded. "I should really stop there anyway, just in case there's some kind of emergency with Jan... or something."

Just then, the phone rang.

"Dunder-Mifflin, this is Pam..." Pam covered the mouthpiece with her palm and handed the phone to Michael. "It's for you, it's Jan," she explained.

Michael tried his best to look puzzled, which ended up falling closer to William Shatner trying to look interested. "Jan? Why would she be calling?" he asked the room before launching into his fake phone conversation. "Hello, Jan? Really? No, no understand. I'll be right there." He said all this without thinking to give her time for any real response, but Andy and Dwight didn't seem to notice. "That was Jan," he told anyone who'd missed it. "It looks like I'm going to be missing this trip, I have to drive her to the hospital."

Dwight was aghast. The unthinkable had happened.

"Oh, my God," Phyllis gasped. "She is okay?"

"She's twisted her... uterus," Michael answered gravely.

"That sounds pretty serious," Angela winced.

"Well, she'll be okay," Michael assured them, "she just needs me to to take care of her for a week or so."

"Michael," Pam (reasonably) pointed out, "that's sounds like she needs to go into surgery right away."

"No, it will be fine," Michael casually brushed her off.

"Are you going to take off work to supervise her?" Kelly asked.

"God, no," Michael scoffed. "The important thing is that I won't be able to go to this convention, and in my place I will be sending Toby."

Toby took a moment to look nonplussed. "It's a_ sales_ convention, Michael. I'm Human Resources."

"Which means that it's about time you started pulling your weight around here," Michael demanded.

"I'm sorry, Michael," Toby replied drily, "I can't fly. My grandfather died in the _Hindenberg_ crash."

There was a smattering of polite chuckles, but Michael was infuriated. "Toby, in this office we do not make jokes about real tragedies," he muttered angrily, "only made-up ones like the Spanish Inquisition." Everyone shared a glance, but no one spoke up. "This convention is important and I will not let you shirk your responsibilities to this company."

"Michael..." Toby protested weakly.

Suddenly, Jim leapt to his feet. "You know what, Michael, I'll go."

Looking in Michael's puzzled face, Jim could see his boss struggle to string together a reasonable reason to stop him, so Jim decided to answer proactively. "I'll be able set up sales deals, I'll be negotiate with suppliers, and you'll be able to stay here with Jan... it will work out great."

Even with all of Michael's mental prowess pushed to the limit, the only person more qualified than Jim that Michael could think to send was himself, and given Jan's promises of what this week may hold, he wasn't about to let that happen. "Well..."

Dwight didn't seem too thrilled by this solution, but no one else raised a reasonable, and, besides, Jim's bags were already packed.

----

Jim: So, why did I agree to go?

Pause.

Jim: Well...


	2. Chapter 2

**I want to thank everyone who took the time to vote... I gotta say, I could not have been more surprised with the way the poll turned out. **

Michael, like a Zen master: Sometimes... life takes us in directions we could never predict ourselves.

Thoughtful pause.

Michael: When Vicki Lawrence shot Andy Griffith... could she have predicted she would later turn it into the hit song 'The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia?"

The camera quickly pans out to reveal Pam standing next to him.

Pam, pammishly: Um, I don't think that's how it happened, Michael.

He scoffs at her stupidity.

Michael: And, by the same token, who could have predicted that I would willing give up a convention... the single greatest joy in the entire world of sales... to tend to the woman I love on her sickbed?

He nods warmly.

Michael: And I don't mind telling you, some days I'm tending to her sickbed five, six times a day.

In a perfect 138 Moment: Pam shrinks within herself so rapidly, there is real concern she might implode.

---

"So, you're really going," Creed gave the old grin and nod.

"Looks like," Jim concurred.

"Knock 'em dead in Stamford, kid," Creed said, giving Jim a playful punch on the shoulder. "You'll be missed."

"Uh... I'm actually just going to Newark for a week, Creed," Jim replied.

"Don't forget to bring a towel," Creed advised, completely unfazed.

"Sound advice," Jim agreed.

Creed nodded. Then, after a moment asked "Wanna get high?"

Jim pretended to think about it for a moment. "Not right now, no," he finally decided.

"Just say the word," Creed said, leaning in and winking.

This struck Jim as a good time to jim.

----

Meanwhile, an entire desk away...

"Heeeeeey, Pammy," Andy cooed, sidling up to her desk. "I've got about ten minutes until I'm leavin' on a jet plane, what do you say you and me clean out the old supply closet?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry," Pam replied very, very quickly, but with total conviction, "but I don't date other Dunder-Mifflin employees."

Andy cocked and eyebrow, this seemed wrong somehow. "Really?"

Pam shook her head. "Sorry, but that's always been my policy and I just can't violate it."

Andy bit his bottom lip and nodded. "No, that's cool," he affirmed. "I can really respect that."

Pam gave him a weak smile.

"Hey, have you seen Meredith?" he rebounded.

----

"So... I'll be leaving soon," Dwight said, standing solemnly behind Angela's desk.

"Yes, that seems to be the case," she replied, her voice even colder and less emotional than usual.

"I'll be gone for an entire week," he muttered sadly.

"Have a good trip," she said as though she were speaking to Kelly.

Everything in Dwight told him to leave it there, but he still gave it one more chance. "I just..."

"You're going to miss your flight," she cut him.

Dwight nodded sadly and sulked off towards the door.

----

Dwight, looking like a wide-eyed, lost, cartoon penguin: I didn't expect anyone to run to meet me at the gates... and I wasn't disappointed.

Pause.

Dwight: It wouldn't have been professional.

Pause.

Dwight: We both agreed on these roles, so we both have to follow them.

The camera lingers on Dwight for a few more minutes of wet, quivering silence.

----

"You gotta love there paid vacations," Andy declared, already treasuring the thrill of going through security.

"It's not a vacation," Jim corrected vacantly, "we're going to be on the convention floor pretty much all day."

"There's one in every office," Andy snickered to Dwight, who was far too busy looking over his shoulder every two seconds to respond. Andy turned his attention back to Jim. "Don't you realize what this is, Tuna? This is seven whole days in a city we'll never see again!" He tried to punch Jim playfully in the chest, but was hindered by his massively over-packed shoulderbag and nearly toppled over. "Just imagine," he said as he tried to stabilize himself, "you could goose any woman you want and never have to worry about seeing her again."

Jim wondered how many different ways he could jim in a single week.

"Dwight!" Jim called out to the distracted salesman. "You have to take off your shoes, buddy, we're going through security.

Dwight complied, but Jim could tell that he was distracted; he didn't take the time to salute the mental detector operators, thank them for the work they were doing to protect the country, or even request that they give Jim a little "extra" attention.

Yep, something was definitely wrong with Dwight.

Jim turned to Andy to comment on it, but found the other man had very quickly immersed himself in conversation with a girl in a backpack.

"Wow," Andy exclaimed with simulated amazement, "so you weren't even alive the year 'Detachable Penis' was released as a single."

----

Jim-shrug.

Jim: Hey, at least I'm out of Scranton for a week.

----

After four full hours of waiting (during which Andy asked Jim such diverse questions as "how many members of the Justice League can you name from memory?" (surprisingly many) and "do you think any of the women I know think about me when they masturbate?"("sure, Andy"), the plane was finally passing awkwardly through the air.  
Andy was very loudly singing along with headset, which was bad enough, but when he started doing the Cabbage Patch, Jim knew the bottom had dropped out of his own personal Hell. He turned to his left and saw the Dwight was staring unblinkingly at the emergency exit hatch less than three feet away from them.

"You okay there, Dwight?" Jim asked with a concern that surprised Jim himself by being seemingly genuine.

Dwight didn't move even slightly. "Just think," he replied in a voice like a dying worm, "all I have to do is pull that hatch... and I can kill everyone onboard this plane."

Were the any space whatsoever between them, Jim would have backed away slowly.

"I'm a Barbie girl in a Barbie wor-orld..." Andy sang.

----

Jim: It almost makes me miss the time I flew with Michael...

Pause.

Jim: And he did his Shatner impression...

Pause.

Jim: For five hours straight.

----

Michael, pointing wildly out his office window: There's some... thing... _onthewingoftheplane!_

**How many members of the Justice League can _you _name from memory? Write in to let me know.**


	3. Chapter 3

The day began for Jim when Andy gently shook him from his sleep and let him know it was time to get ready for another day of making important business contracts.

Well, actually, it began when Andy pressed his talking _My Name is Earl_ voicebox right up to Jim's ear and pushed the button that made Earl say "wakey-wakey, hands off the snakey," but as far as Andy was concerned, it all amounted to the same thing. "Morning, Tuna," he crowed.

Jim blearily tried to find language, but it was beyond him.

"You know what I've been thinking all morning, Tuna?" Andy asked with the kind of morning chipperness you can't help but want to murder.

Jim had no idea. And honestly, the image of Andy, still wet from the shower, garbed only in a towel, and generously lathered across his face, chest, and back were not helping to speed up his thought processes one bit.

"There's absolutely no reason we shouldn't have a Batman in the real world," Andy replied, letting the razor begin its slow, laborious journey.

When he thought about it later, Jim realized he should have pointed out that grappling hook technology probably hadn't reached the necessary level yet, but right now he simply didn't have the wherewithal.

The previous day had gone over smoothly... like a colonic. He had watched Andy attempt to jab his throbbing proboscis into anything vaguely woman-shaped while Dwight hadn't left the chrysalis he had built out of the duvet-cover once since they got to their room. This left Jim himself to make deals for the entire branch, which was about as pleasant as it sounded.

"I mean, _think_ about it," Andy argued, "all you have to do is train your body to its natural peak... it is one thousand percent doable."

Jim groggily turned to Dwight for help, but one look at the zombie-like gaze the other man was giving to this morning's episode of _Go! Diego, Go!_ proved that he would be of even less help than usual.

"Another classic TV couple broken up to make a vastly inferior spin-off," Dwight complained laconically to no one in particular. "It's Buffy and Angel all over again."

----

Jim: Since we got here, Dwight's watched "Caddy Shack" six times.

Pause.

Jim: Since we got here...

Pause.

Jim: ..._The day before yesterday_.

----

Andy "Caddy Shack?" Perfect movie. Bill Murray's best.

Pause.

Andy: Well, _most_ of that movie's perfect, but then there's this _really boring_ love story...

He shakes his head.

Andy: You gotta hate it when they try to pad out a classic comedy with a romantic subplot.  
----

Toby shifted around in the chair and tried to get comfortable.

He'd been shifting around consistently for the last three hours, but he didn't let that deter him. Comfort was attainable, he just had visualize it.

Maybe he should close his eyes.

Still nothing.

Maybe he needed to really focus on it, like one of those old Magic Eye puzzles.

His subconscious told him now was a good time for one of his periodic looks at Pam. He turned towards reception and gave her a weak smile. In keep with long-standing tradition, she didn't even look his way.

----

Toby, uneasy (well, more than usual, anyway): Yeah, I moved back into the main complex.

Awkward pause.

Toby: At least until Jim, Andy, and Dwight get back.

Yet another awkward pause.

Toby: I'm Human Resources, so... I should really be around the people.

Pause.

Toby: Right?

----

It was just about eleven when Toby realized what a horrible series of small deaths he'd inflicted upon himself.

Under the old status quo, he only had to worry about swallowing his tongue when he and Pam infrequently crossed paths in the breakroom, kitchenette, or elevator... now he found himself spending every moment trying coax his legs to burst out their lucite encasements and amble casually in the direction of Pam's desk. So far, he'd only managed to get up once, and his the resulting Frankenstein's Monster-esque gait was so grotesque a pantomime that Pam voiced concerns that he'd been in a car accident.

He had to push it from his mind. Focus on anything else. When the hell did Dwight buy all these Batman toys?

Sure, Dwight had always seen the Dark Knight as a kindred spirit, both being dark, brooding crimefighters and all (Dwight of course being unencumbered by all that "genius" baggage); but it seemed like his desk had recently transformed into an extensive shrine to the Caped Crusader, with Batman statuettes, bobbleheads, and Pez  
dispensers occupying the same places of honor as his Salesman of the Year Award and the battered VHS copy of "Fletch Lives" Michael had given him for his birthday.

"Na-na na-na na-na na-na, na-na na-na na-na na-na Batman," Toby sang, so softly it was practically subconscious.

Stanley snapped his head in Toby's direction and raised an angry eyebrow.

"Sorry," Toby stammered sheepishly.

Still, once the flow got started, Toby couldn't believe how many Batman-based thoughts kept raising to the surface.  
He was suddenly struck by a desire to read all his old comic books... but he knew his wife had gotten them in the divorce, packed them neatly into cardboard boxes, and left them on a sidewalk somewhere, along with his medical records, financial reports, and the love letters he'd written her in the early stages of their courtship.

Dwight would probably have the address of a comic shop, he mused.

"Na-na na-na na-na na-na, na-na na-na na-na na-na Batman," he sang softly as he fumbled through Dwight Rolodex.

Back at her desk, Pam was sketching away, her face a knot of concentration.

She wasn't sure what it was, but lately she just couldn't stop drawing Batman.

----

Jim: You know, I really think that Superman is holding us back.

Thoughtful-jim.

Jim: I mean, I honestly believe that if people didn't _know _he was there to save us... they'd design better railings, stronger scaffoldings... they might even stop hanging around on rooftops altogether.

Pause.

Jim: I mean... we all know that he's going to save us at the last minute... so we don't even think about safety.

He nods seriously.

Jim: Think about it. You know it makes sense.

----

After a long day of introducing themselves and counter-productivity, Jim and Andy found themselves propped up against the hotel bar.

"I'll tell you, Tuna," Andy said, losing the Sinatra-esque cool points he clearly thought his martini awarded him by swilling it all over the counter. "These conventions are just what the doctor ordered for two recently single guys like us."

Jim nodded half-heartedly. Andy was always "recently single," despite the fact that Jim could only recall him having one girlfriend in the entire time they knew each other.

"No strings, no consequences," Andy began his sermon, "and all wall-to-wall 'tang, my friend, wall-to-wall 'tang!"

Jim nodded. He had absolutely no interest in speaking to another woman ever again, and that was something could doubtlessly help with.

"In fact," Andy declared, spotting a woman a full head taller than himself, "I feel like having a good, long drink right about now."

He swaggered up to her, overflowing with undeserved bravado.

"Hey, how ya doin'," Andy greeted toothily, "Drew Cornell, do you have a name and would you like to memorize the top of my head? Answer the second question first, please, I'm a busy man."

"Drew Cornell?" the woman repeated, raising a dubious eyebrow.

"Yep," Andy nodded. "That's the name you're going to have tattooed across your hinder before the evening is over, Angel-cakes."

"Then why does your name-tag say 'Andy Bernard?'" she asked with amused disinterest.

Andy shrugged. "Well, I'm Andy Bernard when I'm sitting and drinking, Drew Cornell when I'm gettin' down with the nasties."

The woman shook her head and decided (understandably) to put several solar systems between Andy and herself.

Again, Andy could only shrug.

"That was kind of brutal," Jim opined.

"Yeah, but she'll get over it," Andy declared aloof. "Now, if you excuse me, Tuna," he said, slapping Jim on the shoulder harder than he would have liked, "there's a certain _other_ fish on the menu tonight."

And with that, Andy disappeared into the crowds in search of further rejections.

Jim watched him go, then stared without focus at the crowd for longer than was generally considered socially acceptable. Before he knew it, his hand was creeping, of its own volition and in complete defiance of what he knew was best, and started dialing the one number he'd promised himself he'd spend the convention forgetting.

He listened distractedly to the overly cheerful voicemail message, picturing in his mind the phone itself floating in an absolute black void, when he heard the beep and his time came to speak, he realized he had no idea what he could possibly say.

Silently, he severed the connection and returned his phone to his pocket, thinking to himself about the days when he still thought he was better than Andy.

----

Andy: Was is a successful night for the And-Man?

Smug nod.

Andy: What do you think?

He pulls out a fistful of fliers for local strip clubs.

Andy: Superman and Green Lantern ain't got nothin' on me.

**What's_ your _favorite Bill Murray movie? Let me know, kids.**


	4. Chapter 4

Jim felt like Johnny Depp in_ 21 Jump Street_.

Which is to say, how Johnny Depp would feel if he tried to play that role _now..._ a problem only made worse by the fact almost no one else in the room would get the reference..

"Hey, Andy," Jim cautioned, "don't you think these girls a little young for you?"

Andy shrugged. "They're older than the Madonna was when she gave birth to our Lord and Savior... and if the Virgin Mother isn't good enough for you, it's time to lower your standards, Tuna," he replied matter-of-factly.

"I didn't know you were religious," Jim said, genuinely surprised.

"Baby, I'm whatever I have to be to get the job done," Andy blasted back.

At which point, Jim could merely jim.

Jim had been hanging around with Andy for the past few nights... which bespoke well to his level of desperation. After a few hours of mild pleasantries with people from various walks of the vast field of paper supplies, the two of them hit the streets, cruising (with ever-increasingly lack of discrimination) the various bars and clubs around the area, all in the name of Andy's eternal search for what he affectionately referred to as "The Kitty."

Now, here it was, just past ten in the morning in a warehouse full of kids half Jim's age... which, again, only served to make him feel like the world's oldest man.

The DJ (who kept announcing himself as "Slush Panties," at one point goingso far as too play a theme song explaining the name) set down another track and Jim felt his insides twinge.

"Ohmygod, I love this song," Andy announced and proceeded to sing along. "I'm horny all night long-I'm horny all night long-I'm horny all night long..."

It was then that Jim saw how far he'd really fallen.

"Hey, Andy, I think I'm going back to the convention," he said. "John Stewart's giving his keynote address in a few minutes and I should really be there for that."

"John Stewart?" Andy repeated, clearly lost. "The talk show host or the Green Lantern?"

"The _client," _Jim emphasized_, "_...the head of Quebecor Printing." Which, of course meant Jim had absolutely no interest in hearing his speech, but he somehow had even less interest in hearing Andy sing about how randy he was feeling.

"Yeah, whatever," Andy shrugged indifferently, turning his attention to the girl nearest him and offering her his hand. "Robin Roxbury."

"Uh, Blithe Fratelli," the girl improvised.

"Hi," Andy smiled a special serial killer smile that was all his own. "I don't know if you've heard, but they're giving out free samples of me."

The girl nodded, giving him an indulgent smile. "So, who's your friend?" she asked, indicated the rapidly disappearing Jim.

"Who?" Andy asked. "The Tuna?"

"Yeah," the girl nodded again. "He's cute."

"Yeah, but you're wasting your time on him," Andy confided. "Les-_bi_-an," he sang.

The girl nodded agreeably, then went off to vanish into the horizon. Andy didn't seem to notice and merely turned his attentions to another girl.

"Excuse me," he said, "I can't help but notice you're not having sex with me."

----

Jim, frankly astounded: I have spent the last four nights hanging out with Andy.

Pause.

Jim: I knew he was Andy and I still hung out with him.

Pause.

Jim: I didn't even try to get out of it.

Pause.

Jim: Is there any sadder way to spend an evening?

----

In a scene almost too sad to commit to public viewing, Dwight is seen still in bed, completely motionless, while a foreign children's educational programs on the television.

"Goosio, Goosio, Goosio," sang the tiny, wooden, tie-wearing goose, his tune tragically herat-breaking.

It's incredibly painful to watch, but the camera just keeps right on rolling.

"Did you know I'm Goosio?"

And _keeps_ rolling.

"Friend to Maltese children everywhere-io. Goosio, Goosio, Goosio."

----

This was his moment, Toby decided as he watched Pam rapidly typing away at her computer. This was his time to finally sweep Pam off her feet and prove to her the kind of man he could be. Every movement set with determination, he rose from his chair, straightened his tie, and summoned every last golden word to his throat, sure to win her over forever. He was mere inches away from her desk, when Michael rushed out of his office and pushed him aside angrily.

"Pam," Michael spat, "I just got a call from Jan," he informed her with a certain cold anger, "on my _cell phone_."

"Oh," Pam 'oh-ed,' turning her eyes to her ever-growing stack of Batman illustrations.

"She said she tried to call me here at 4:15 and she couldn't get through," Michael quietly reproached her.

"At 4:15 Creed was using to phone to play 'Funkytown,'" Pam explained simply.

"And then she tried again at 4:20," Michael continued bitterly.

"At 4:20 he switched to the Batman theme," Pam replied softly.

"Pam, the success of this office depends on everyone dedicating themselves completely to their job," Michael cautioned.

"Right," Pam agreed softly.

"Now, I've got to duck out early. Jan needs some ice cream," he explained. "Watch the store for me."

"Will do," Pam replied.

"So, Pam..." Toby began awkwardly, his momentum completely derailed.

"That's sexual harassment and she doesn't have to stand for it," Michael called back from the door.

Toby tried to defend himself, but was simply too bewildered.

"I'm a witness," Michael assured him. "You won't get away with this," he said, then killed all chance of arguing the point by closing the door behind him.

Feeling like nothing so much as a frightened bunny, Toby sank back to his desk in shame. Pam would have been the first to defend him, but all her attention was focused on the DC Comics submission guidelines page.

"Na-na na-na na-na na-na Batman," she sang softly.

----

Toby: It's my birthday today.

He takes a deep breath.

----

Despite the best of intentions, Jim made it as far as the lobby before he realized he simply couldn't make it through another day of pretending he cared about the crucial difference between 20 and 24 Pound Extra Bright Inkjet Paper and its relation to building customer loyalty. So, instead he found himself scrunched up on one of the plush-looking-yet-completely-uncomfortable lobby chairs, staring at his phone.

It seemed like a fair enough way to spend the day given the circumstances, and, while he knew the phone would never ring, he liked keeping an eye on it, just in case. Then, completely unexpectly, a miracle occured. Forty-five minutes into the third hour, the phone somehow developed a will of its own and, completely against his bidding, it began ringing up the same familiar number once again.

Predictably, she didn't pick up. But as he listened once again to the pre-recorded message that had been tattooed on his brain for longer than he could accept, he felt his throat loosen and, much to his own surprise, as soon as the "beep" went off he began to speak..

"Hi, it's me," he began. "I know you probably don't want to hear from me right now, but..." His voice caught for a second. Or maybe he just forgot what he wanted to say. "...I just called because I was thinking about, uh, Superman's eyes. You know, when I was a kid, I could accept everything about him but those eyes. I mean, he had x-ray vision, telescopic vision, heat vision..." he shrugged, then felt like an idiot when he realized she'd never be able to see it. "Somehow I had no problem with the fact that he could fly or punch through steel, but I could never really accept that his eyes could do all that..." he rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously "...when I couldn't even see what was right in front of me." His phone picked that moment to beep at him. "Look, I gotta go, I got another call... I just wanted to tell you that. Bye."

Jim severed that connection and answered his in-coming call in one quick motion.

"He-e-ey, Tuna," Andy sang, "you missed a swinging party, buddy. I met a real nice couple of girls."

"What, from the club?" Jim asked, not really wanting to hear the answer, but feeling he had to ask.

"Nah, that didn't pan out," Andy admitted. "But I kept walking and few blocks down the street there were all these girls standing against a wall, just looking for a date."

Jim gave a jim-nod. "Is that what they said?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what they said" Andy agreed. "I thought it was kind of weird at first, but then I thought 'well, what's more important, where you meet the girl or what she's willing to do to you, am I right?'"

Jim felt a smile creeping across his lips. Maybe it made him a bad person, but he liked where this story was going.

"Anyway," Andy continued, more than a little confused by his own narrative, "they were really down for whatever, you know? I mean, I started talking to one girl and she kept suggesting I take a few of her friends along, which... hey, Tuna, you know the Big Dog, I wasn't about to say no."

"Of course not," Jim agreed.

"So, I had five or six girls with me and we were heading back to the hotel room... even though they seemed to really like the rental car for some reason," Andy narrated.

"Well, it is a Scion," Jim reminded him.

"True," Andy concurred. "But we were on our way to the hotel when suddenly this cop car pulls up and... all the girls ran for some reason."

"Maybe they were a gang of international jewel thieves," Jim suggested.

"Do you think so?" Andy asked, entranced by the possibility.

"Maybe," Jim granted.

"Dude, that would be so rad. Anyway, the cops charged me with something called 'soliticitation...' which I think involves sending out Spam or something... I can _totally_ beat it... but," and here his voice got a little desperate for the first time, "do you think you could get all the money you have and meet me here at the jail?"

"Sure, absolutely," Jim readily agreed.

"Great," Andy nearly sighed.

"Oh, except..." Jim murmured.

"What?" Andy started.

"I've got maybe twenty-six dollars on me," Jim admitted.

"Oh."

"I could call your mom, though," Jim suggested.

"Um..."

"Or Corporate!" Jim offered. "I'm sure they'd be willing to bail you out."

"I don't know..."

"Don't worry, Andy, we'll take care of this," Jim assured him, promptly ending the conversation.

----

Andy, standing in front of a gray brick wall: Nah, jail's not that bad. I'm meeting a lot of new people.

Pause.

Andy: Please send help.

**Tell m, party people, what's your Zodiac sign?**


	5. Epilogue: A Time For Healing

Michael: Did I make the right choice staying home from the convention to take care of Jan?

He pulls up his sleeves to reveal a circular pattern of bruises around each of his wrists.

Michael, nodding smugly: I think the rope-burns speak for themselves.

----

At first Jim thought Dwight hadn't moved since he'd left him; he was still huddled up in the comfort-less hotel blanket, staring at the TV, waiting for a phone call that was never going to come. But when Jim got a little closer, he saw the evidence of Dwight's further shift into madness: he had used half of the rooms pillows to construct a makeshift Angela and, if that wasn't sad enough, he had shaped some of the smaller cushions into what appeared to be cats.

Jim approached him slowly, less out of caution than fear as to how to deal with the horrible sinking feeling of recognition he was suddenly feeling.

"What are you watching?" Jim asked warmly.

"Women of Ninja Warrior," Dwight replied blankly.

"_Nice_," Jim nodded. "Who are you rooting for? Yoko?"

"No," Dwight spat. "_Yuko_."

Jim nodded again. "Do you mind if I root for Yoko?" he asked, clearing a space for himself at the foot of the bed.

"Sure," Dwight sneered, "if you want to back a loser."

Jim cast a long, thoughtful glance towards his long-time coworker. "You know," he answered honestly, "I think I do."

**One Year Later...**

Pam couldn't believe how far she'd come in so short a time.

It had scarcely been ten months ago that she had turned in her letter of resignation to Michael, and here she was, the most highly sought after new talent in the comic book industry; with more offers for work than she could fill if she lived to be a thousand, a shelf full of awards she didn't know existed until they got back from the engravers, and an amazing new relationship with a dashing writer and Tantric sex expert from Scotland.

The day had been a whirlwind; her first convention. Thousands of fans waiting in line to see and _her_ and praise _her _wor, and while most of them also tried to look down _her _blouse, she was just feeling too positive to let that bring her down.

"Miss Beesly," the true believer she was currently sketching Dyna-Mutt for asked, "what made you decide to work in comic books?"

Pam stopped in mid-line, scrunching up her nose as she tried to recall.

"I dont' know," she admitted. "All of the sudden I just felt like drawing Batman."

----

Andy Bernard's Previously Unknown Brother Skip strode through the cold, gray halls of the anicent penitentiary with a dark sense of purpose. He had given up everything, including a prominent position in Penn State's A Capella group the Penn E Loafers, to get here and he wasn't about to leave without his brother. He would get Andy out or die trying.

A short, burly figure with red paint over his prison-issue shoes walked slowly up to him. "I hear you've been asking questions," the man said softly out of the corner of his mouth.

"I'm just trying to find my brother," Skip muttered gravely.

The other man gave a sympathetic nod.

Letting his defenses down for the first since he got there, Skip held his hand out to the other man. "I'm Skip Bernard, I staged a bank-robbery to get in here. You?"

"I'm the Tin Man," the round man replied, as he suddenly pulled a shiv out of his pocket shoved it deep into Skip's gut. "I'm a Friend of Dorothy."

Skip hit the ground in an instant, clutching his gushing wound, praying he could hope hard enough to keep himself from going into to shock.

"And you _don't _start down that Yellow Brick Road unless you know what's waiting for you on the other side," Tin Man called back as he disappeared into the darkness.

**Coming Soon **_(that's what she said)_

"Dunder-Mifflin, this is Pam."

"Pam," Michael labored voice came over the line, "I need you to come to my condo. Ugh! _Now_..."

"Michael, are you okay?" Pam asked.

"Bring bolt-cutters, rubber gloves, and a first aid kit," he grunt urgently. "_And please hurry_."

"Michael, what happened?" she asked with real concern.

There was an awkward pause before he lamely answered "I, uh, broke up with Jan again."

Pam really had to stop asking question.

**The Epic Conclusion to Cookies Trilogy**

Dwight: For me, sex is like Halo.

He nods knowingly

Dwight: It's only as good as your internet connection.

_Mindy Kaling, Creed Bratton, and Steve Carell's penis in_

**Bedroom Secrets of the Master Chiefs**

Kelly: I'm so glad we live in a age when all a girl has to do to be famous is make a video of herself having sex!  
**  
Only on MTT.**


End file.
